


Lost in the Sun

by echoinautumn (maybetwice)



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Control, Oracles, Suspension Of Disbelief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 02:01:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybetwice/pseuds/echoinautumn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On his way home from war, Hikaru stumbles upon a festival and a boy, and nothing is ever the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> A fill for [this prompt](http://community.livejournal.com/st_xi_kink_meme/3516.html?thread=2793916#t2793916) at [](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://st-xi-kink-meme.livejournal.com/)**st_xi_kink_meme** , which bloomed into this enormous… thing. I can’t even explain it. It was not supposed to be so enormous!

The town is celebrating when Hikaru steps into its outermost streets, and he knows it even then because of the brilliant swathes of cloth draped over and around every doorway, every garden gate, heralding the arrival of something, _someone_. He’s far enough from home to know that he can’t easily predict the actions of the local people, people who have precious little to celebrate here on the edge of the world, where it is cold and dismal most of the year, and is becoming increasingly cooler with every day past the summer solstice, and that was four months prior. The harvest is finishing here while it is probably at its peak where Hikaru is from, the far corner of the Empire where the sun always seems so much brighter than here. The sun feels impotent against the bitter chill and looming walls of clouds that always hover just in sight on the horizon. He’d never seen anything like this weather when he came to this distant province, two years before as part of his rotation as leader on the border guard. It’s all driving rains and terrifying storms, or snows so deep and dangerous that anyone could be lost in moments. He’s on his way home now, toward a promotion that will make it so he never has to leave the temperate warmth and comfort of his homeland.

He’ll certainly never come back to the dismal northern frontier, that’s for sure.

The streets are deserted at first, although it’s late in the afternoon and the sun is dipping toward the horizon, but the closer he comes to the town’s center, the more people he sees milling around with some excited rush in the air. When he finally reaches the town square, he’s fighting off a wave of cheerful people and holding tightly to the string of his bag, not because he fears it will be taken, just swept away by these people.

Someone crashes into him and Hikaru immediately lapses into a string of swearwords, in the standard language, but not the one the people here use as they stubbornly cling to their own words, their own customs. Hikaru stammers out a choppy apology in their language, something he’s picked up over the last two years because it makes it easier to do his job if he’s _trying_ to get along with the people. His apology trails off into nothing when his clumsy, accidental assailant looks up at him from under curly hair, grown a little longer than the boys in the area, which means he’s probably hit puberty a few years earlier and is in the process of becoming a man, growing out his hair into the scruffy tails they prefer here. Hikaru is stopped immediately by his bright, green eyes, the kind that would be revered and worshiped if anyone from Hikaru's home was born with them.

The boy swallows hard, recognizes him and his clumsy accent as someone who won’t understand his native tongue as well as he needs, he looks so stricken, so concerned, and then straightens his back.

“You are a soldier,” he announces in quiet but firm tones, though no one around them could hear him, and if they could, they probably wouldn’t care. The crowd is rising toward a frenzy now anyway, the excitement building and building until it’s taut and tangible in the air around them.

“I am,” Hikaru acknowledges and nods toward him. “Just passing through, though. I’m going home.”

This somehow seems like the right thing to say, because the boy reaches for his arm just as the crowd parts around them and a man draped in white robes steps into the circle, bows toward Hikaru, and holds out his hand. The boy doesn’t cower, though he does flinch and take a half-step back, enough for Hikaru’s fingers to itch toward the hilt of his sword, but he sighs in what sounds like resignation and starts toward the robed man. Just once, he peers over his shoulder and offers a smile to Hikaru, calling back a farewell in his native tongue, followed by a phrase Hikaru has come to know as a slang term for unwelcome soldiers, but one he’ll have to actually ask someone about, because from the boy’s mouth it almost sounds like an endearment.

Then the crowd closes around Hikaru again and he doesn’t see the boy again, just the lingering image of the intelligent shimmer in his green eyes when he squared his shoulders and followed the white-robed man toward the center of the square.

*

Not until later that night does Hikaru actually find out what’s going on, and only from another, better-informed traveler staying at the town’s inn with whom he shares an overfull cauldron of thick stew and a heavy, crusty loaf of bread.

The other traveler, an eccentric architect who comes from much farther than Hikaru, passing through this way on his way to the Emperor himself, explains that the festivities Hikaru has stumbled upon is an annual harvest festival, complete with the sacrifice of a virgin to the Temple that stands prominently in the center of town. At Hikaru’s horrified outburst, he laughs and calms him, explaining that sacrifices here are different, that the sacrifice, as far as he has divined, joins the Temple priests or something of the ilk, he can’t be sure.

Only hours later, lying awake and restless in bed, does Hikaru connect his strange encounter in the square with the traveler’s story and realize that the boy he met must have been the town’s sacrificial virgin, so to speak, even though he has no evidence that the boy is a virgin, or if that’s even a requirement. It isn’t that which keeps him awake the rest of the night, though, rolling his pillows and then his body in a desperate effort to get comfortable .

It’s that the boy seemed like he was running.

With that in mind and no plan for what to do with this knowledge, Hikaru rises when the sky turns to a pale, steely gray dawn. He has breakfast with the innkeeper, who excitedly explains that Hikaru is fortunate, that he only missed the first day of festivities and there is another week’s worth to come. Hikaru isn’t sure what to do with this knowledge, knowing that there is a boy somewhere in the town, possibly suffering, with the kind of eyes that could pierce the fiercest armor Hikaru has worn.

He thanks the innkeeper and steps onto the streets. He hadn’t planned to stay here more than the night, but something keeps him anchored here, even if he tells himself that it’s only the need for rest. He’s been so desperate to get home that he hasn’t once thought about how the journey across the Empire would tire him out. The investigation that will satiate his curiosity will provide him enough time to rest, to prepare for the rest of the long trip home, even if he has to make it at double-speed to escape the unsettling feeling that has sunk into his stomach.

The square is already full just after sunrise, and this somehow surprises Hikaru, who heard celebrations in the street well past the midnight bells and expected the people to be sleeping off the previous day’s festivities. The mood this morning is excited but hushed, unlike the frenzy of the day before. There is a crowd of people surrounding a raised platform in the center of the stage, on which is the largest wooden tub Hikaru has ever seen, bigger even than the ones used to make wine in some of the places he’s seen during his tour of duty. Each person deposits something at the foot of the platform and then departs quickly, and it doesn’t take Hikaru long to realize that it’s earth, every bit of it. Rocks, pouches of soil, even bottles of sand mixed among the heap. A row of robed men like the one from the day before are hauling massive buckets of water that gives off a fragrant steam, wafting across the crowd like calming incense. At the edge of the basin, they pour in the water and turn back toward the temple for more.

Hikaru watches for a long time, the morning chill settling on his skin like frost on the grass, until the basin is full and steaming hot. He isn’t sure what’s going on, whether the people are planning on taking a bath together or making a floral-scented stew, until a hush spreads over the crowd at the appearance of a very long line of white-robed priests from the direction of the temple. At the center of the vanguard walks the strange boy. Hikaru realizes that he isn’t wearing his clothes from the day before, which had been virtually indistinguishable from any of the other townspeople, but he isn’t wearing a white robe like the priests, either. Instead, it looks like he’s wearing old burlap, scratchy and rough, and it’s enough to ignite a spark of indignant rage in Hikaru, but he clenches his fists and watches them lead the boy up the stairs onto the platform.

One of the robed men, what Hikaru can only assume is the Elder of the priests by his shriveled appearance and hoary hair, stands out from the rest of them and speaks to the crowd. His handle on their language isn’t as good as he’d like after two years, but Hikaru chalks it up to the formal, ceremonial language that he’s never had occasion to be exposed to before now. All he can discern is talk of sins, wrongdoings, and the cleansing of the whole by the one. Then, with surprising strength, the old man seizes the boy’s arm and strips off the rough robe, leaving him bare and exposed to the cold morning air and the crowd of townspeople.

The horrified rage in Hikaru grows stronger, that they would do this to their own, even if it’s their way, and that’s something he’s always been able to understand for the sake of peace in the Empire. He bites his lip when the Elder shouts for someone to come forward, anyone who could possibly deem themselves worthy to touch a sacrificial bull. Hikaru rolls his eyes at that, at his mistranslation that misses the weight of this ceremony, but no one from the crowd speaks up. Their eyes are cast down in shame, and the Elder opens his mouth to speak, starts to declare them all unworthy, that he will do it himself, and that’s when Hikaru pushes aside a few of the townspeople, murmuring apologies before shouting in his mother tongue, then in the language here, that he will be the one to do it.

The priests exchange a stunned look, but the only one who appears to have any objections is the boy himself, who stares at Hikaru in wide-eyed shock and the kind of trepidation that mars the stubborn will that Hikaru saw in him the day before.

“I will do it,” he announces again when he steps onto the platform, this time correcting his grammar so that it is more formal and less indicative that he learned their language from the lowest classes in their society.

“You do know what this means, soldier,” the Elder asks him in Hikaru’s own tongue, and if Hikaru wasn’t sure before, he knows now that this man is also the leader of the town, the liaison between the Emperor’s agents and the people here. “We do not object, but this ceremony is—”

“Very important,” Hikaru interrupts. He understands, even if he doesn’t know what he’s doing up here, what they’ll expect him to do, whether it’s to drink the boy’s blood or take a beating for him. “What am I supposed to do?”

The priests look at him in confusion, and then with something like suspicion, but the Elder takes Hikaru to them anyway, speaking in measured sentences thickened by his accent.

“He must be prepared for his work in the temple, cleansed of the outside world. The people think of this as a cleansing of their own wrongdoings for the year. He has spent the night collecting the things of this world.” Here, the Elder waves his hand around to indicate that he means the whole town, the world around them, and the other priests begin stripping Hikaru of his uniform, carefully setting his sword on top of his folded clothes while Hikaru is too stunned to respond.

“As an outsider, I suppose you could be as successful as anyone in clearing them, clearing our sacrificial bull, of the things they feel guilt for.”

Hikaru almost doesn’t hear the last statement because the cold is more piercing than he thought. He spares a look over at the boy, whose shocked expression has settled into pensive confusion, and then sweeps his eyes over his long, pale body. Hikaru is close enough to clearly see that he has creamy, smooth skin smudged with dirt; his hair is a tangled mess and his cock is soft and pulled tight against his body for warmth, not unlike Hikaru’s. They exchange a look, but neither moves to get any warmer, until the priests lift the boy and drop him into the deep basin.

The Elder gives Hikaru a slight nudge and hands him both a soft cloth and a lump of sweet-smelling soap. Feeling for the first time like he’s made a mistake because of his impulse to protect, to take care of a complete stranger experiencing something Hikaru has no conception of, Hikaru climbs into the basin through a small ladder and realizes when he’s in the water that the basin is high enough that the priests and the people can’t see anything below his chest, and that the water actually reaches that high.

The boy stares at him intently; his lips pressed together as though he has something to say and is unsure whether to make it biting or simply frigidly polite. Hikaru holds up the soap and cloth that he was given and the boy lowers his eyes.

“I am ready,” he finally tells him and Hikaru feels something twist inside him. This boy shouldn’t even be here. He’s old enough to be a man, or at least old enough to on the way to become one. Hikaru remembers what it was like to be his age, as he was in exactly the same stage of his life only a few years before.

“What’s your name?” he asks on impulse, lathering the cloth with the soap, which complements the scented water well, even as the combination makes him a little light-headed.

“What’s _yours?_ ”

Hikaru laughs and steps toward the boy, his movements slow and leaden in the water that feels thicker than usual, or maybe it’s just the incense getting to his head. “Hikaru Sulu,” he tells the boy when he rubs the soft cloth over his back, an arm circling around the boy and pulling him against Hikaru’s chest.

It seems enough to placate the boy for the moment, because he sighs and takes a deep breath, moaning it out slowly when he slumps into Hikaru’s touch. “Pavel,” he finally answers, and whatever effect the incense and soap is having on Hikaru, it’s nothing like what is happening to the boy, to Pavel.

“Pavel Andreievich,” he whispers, blinking a few times in rapid succession like a sleepy child trying to stay awake, but Hikaru doesn’t miss that this is somehow important to him, and he tucks the name away; a treasure to keep hold on until he can return it.

“Pavel,” Hikaru echoes and keeps scrubbing him gently as he watches the dirt come loose from his skin. He tries to be methodical and professional about this, like cleaning one of his sick countrymen out on the frontier, but he quickly encounters a problem he never had with a sick friend.

“What do I do?” he whispers into Pavel’s ear, but the boy is heavy in his arms, even though his cock is impressively hard a few inches away from Hikaru’s hand.

He mutters something incoherent and Hikaru has only a few seconds to make up his mind because the more he worries about this, the harder _he’s_ getting, and the press of his cock against Pavel’s ass is surely enough to get the boy’s attention. Trying to maintain some of his composure, Hikaru lathers up the cloth again and rubs gentle circles along Pavel’s inner thighs, behind his testicles, and then he stops again for another breath.

“Oh gods,” he swears, thinks of all the praying he’ll have to do at all the different shrines he’ll have to travel to, just to make up for his shameful want right _now._ He wraps the hand holding the cloth around the shaft of Pavel’s cock and cleans him there, pretending it’s not like the way he touches himself, that it’s just like he would treat any of his men, or the ones that were his before he left to go home. When that doesn’t work, he convinces himself it’s the incense, just his body getting carried away with the ritual.

Pavel cries out and arches into the hand, the most sudden thing he’s done since the water made him so sluggish, and Hikaru thinks he’s lucid until he sees the his eyes, hazy and clouded over when they snap open and something hot and thicker than the water spurts onto his hand. Hikaru looks up from Pavel and looks for any of the priests, fearing for their reactions, thinking he’s spoiled the ceremony by accident, but the Elder actually looks pleased and what Hikaru can see of the crowd appears cheered, as if this is a good omen.

The Elder nods once to him and Hikaru doesn’t have to be sober of whatever drug—because by now he knows that they have been drugged—is in the water to know that it’s a signal, that he’s finished what he was supposed to do. Ignoring his erection with the knowledge that it will wilt the second he steps out of the water, he gathers Pavel in his arms and climbs out of the basin, flinching when the air hits his skin, clearing his head immediately.

The priests take Pavel and wrap him quickly in a white robe that is too thin and shimmery to be like their own, then a second and a third in bright, flashy colors that contrast to the dismal world around them. Someone hands Hikaru a robe of his own, a thicker one that is obviously meant to give him some modesty until he can change back into his clothes. Something nags at him though, and he doesn’t move, while he keeps watching the priests with Pavel, realizing for the first time that being their sacrificial bull doesn’t mean Pavel is joining their ranks, that he’s something different entirely.

This is confirmed when the Elder steps past Hikaru and looks down at Pavel who is being presented to the gathered crowd by the other priests. Hikaru shivers in silence as the priest leans down and addresses Pavel in their language, Hikaru somehow clear-headed enough to understand what the old priest is asking.

“What do you see?” he asks, and Pavel whimpers, stirs, and opens his eyes blearily, staring blankly up at the thin, clear, morning sky.

The word he utters is one that Hikaru knows, one of the first he learned when he came to this land, because what other word could be so important? The Elder repeats it, first to Pavel, then to the gathered priests, and then in a shout to the people, who echo it back to him in murmurs.

_Snow._

*

Pavel’s first prediction turns out to be true, despite the fair weather that the day began with. Hikaru now understands what’s going on, has a better idea what he’s witnessed, taken part in. By late morning, the ever-present clouds on the horizon have rolled in closer, blanketing the sky with clouds. Hikaru doesn’t have to be a weather witch or even a native of this land to know that it's too late to leave now, that it was too late to leave all along. It’s better to be here, in this town, than stuck out in the wilds when the snow comes.

He’d been handed his clothes and dragged to the temple after the ceremony, not with the group that carried Pavel up the stairs, but in a later party, among the people who carried back the wooden basin. He half expected to be hanged as soon as they got back to the temple, but the priests were kind to him when they led him into a warm antechamber and fed him a broth scented with pungent herbs that Hikaru suspected were to help chase away the lingering effects of whatever was in the bath water. When they return his uniform to him, it has been washed, dried out on some hot rocks, and freshened with more herbs that, when they lead Hikaru through the temple halls, muttering to themselves, he discovers are grown by temple priestesses.

The first snow is falling by the time he reaches a high tower where the Elder is waiting for him. He straightens his back and adjusts his sword, bound with knots he tied himself when the priestess who delivered his clothes to him expressed discomfort at the weapon in their temple.

“You understand what happened this morning?” The Elder asks him in even tones, turning away from the falling snow and the view of the street, where people are milling around, gathering wood and still somehow carrying on with their festival as if this is what they expected to happen all along.

“I did not know the practice was alive,” he tells him honestly, trying to make his voice even, though his accent is atrocious when he tries to speak the language of this cold, hardened land. The practice of sacrificing virgins is an old custom of his own people, but one that passed away a long time before. Keeping oracles is something that Hikaru's grandfather’s grandfather remembers, but the practice was outlawed by the Emperor by the time his great-grandfather was born.

“It is alive here,” the Elder assures him. “Once a year, the gods choose one of the oracles to take amongst themselves, and the oracles choose who joins their number to replace the lost one.” Hikaru feels a jolt, like a sharp blow to his stomach, and he barely swallows in time. The Elder sees his alarm and laughs.

“They live a better life in this temple, the chosen seven of them, in however long they live, than they possibly could among the people. They are blessed with the duty to do well by these people, and the people, this temple, cares for them in turn. Do not worry for them, soldier.” He turns back toward the window and watches the heavy snow carry on the wind. For as heavy as it must be coming down, Hikaru is astounded that the howl of icy winds doesn’t carry through the temple itself.

“I suspect you cannot keep traveling for some time,” the Elder continues, though Hikaru mistakenly thought that he was finished before. “The winter snows here are bitter, and this one will be strong. They will not let up for at least a moon, perhaps two or three. You could try to leave, but it would be a hard journey to the next town and if you died, no one would even know for some time.”

“What are you getting to?” Hikaru doesn’t want to be impolite, but the more the man talks, the less sure he is about what he wants from him.

“It would be too expensive for you to live in the inn all winter without work. There is no garrison in our town, and there are the occasional threats through the winter from the forest, from wandering bands that take advantage of the poor weather. One soldier, _you_ , staying in our temple, would protect the people and the oracles. We would feed you, clothe you, and pay you for your services at the end of the season.”

“You want me to stay,” Hikaru interrupts, scolding himself immediately for his lack of polite subservience to this man, an elder in more than just title; someone he would be obligated to honor among his own people.

“We would be honored to provide you with shelter over the winter, in exchange for your services.” The Elder turns back toward him and Hikaru looks past him, out the window where the snow is swirling heavily now, already accumulating on the ground. He could leave now and make it to the next town after a few hard days in the cold. Once the snow falls, he could go and risk being lost in it forever. Neither of these options take into account that Pavel is somewhere in the temple, drugged and useless, and Hikaru can’t get his bright, intelligent gaze out of his head, nor the way it frosted over like the edges of the glass on the Elder’s window when they were in the bath together.

There’s something amiss here, something Hikaru can’t ignore, but he sighs and runs his hands through his hair.

“I would be honored to accept your offer.” He tries not to think of home, or that he’s missing several key festivals by doing this, ones he promised that he’d be home before. It’s too late for that now, and if he’d left a week earlier maybe he’d have made it, but not now.

The Elder looks delighted and leads him back toward the door, where he’s passed off to a young priestess, who leads him silently through the halls to a chamber that he supposes is meant to be his room for the duration of his stay.

While he’s looking around, the priestess tells him that they will have his things delivered from the inn, and Hikaru almost tells them not to bother before he remembers that he has gifts for his sisters among his things. Instead, he just nods silently and stares around at the room, a fire already burning in the hearth, as if they’ve just lit it for him. This may not be the greatest of his tactical choices, but Hikaru sends a short prayer to his own gods, different from the ones worshipped here, that whatever happens, it will be for the best.

*

Hikaru doesn’t see Pavel at all while he’s in the temple. The first snows of the season last for three days, and when they pass, leaving the sky gray and cold, the town is coated in well over two feet of snow. He falls into a routine quickly, rising at first bells, taking his breakfast alone, and then setting off through the town to secure the outer limits. He returns to the temple around noon most days, and spends the day reading, writing letters to his family that cannot and will not be delivered before he returns home on his own, or watching the town continue about its own routine, hindered but not halted by the heavy snows that mount with every passing week.

By the end of the first moon, the snows in some areas of the town have reached the roofs of the houses, and the people have begun digging tunnels through the worst of it, just to get light into their homes. Hikaru helps where he can, returns to the temple exhausted and weary, and thinks every day of Pavel being pampered somewhere in the temple. He’s learned that the priests are responsible for the male oracles, the priestesses for the females, but otherwise there is little to no difference in their status within the temple. Their chastity is demanded, something Hikaru finds painfully ironic, as he’s caught young couples several times over the last few weeks, hidden away in corners where they hope no one sees and know that everyone does but says nothing. A few of the priestesses have offered to come into the bath with him, and even though his handle on their language is poor and improving slowly, he can understand what it is they mean without any trouble.

He always sends them away and he doesn’t know how to tell them that he’s not interested, he’ll never be interested, because it’s something unspoken where he comes from; something his family has silently accepted after a few otherwise isolated incidents from his youth.

One night, a month and a half after his arrival to the temple, Hikaru finally sees Pavel again. He’s been convinced that he’s been in chains, and he almost doesn’t recognize him at first when passing through the snow-blanketed courtyard. The robes catch his eye first, and then he stops mid-step to stare when his eyes settle on Pavel, whose head is tipped back toward the star-crusted sky. Hikaru forgets to breathe and though he’d been feeling particularly in control of himself before then, he doesn’t even realize that he’s crossing through the cold snow until he’s barely a few paces away from Pavel.

“Pavel,” he breathes, taking in the bright swirls of reds and gold which looks more like a fiery ocean than silk robes, though he can see from here that they’re actually well-layered, that their fragile appearance is deceiving. There are no shouts from the temple that might indicate that he’s escaped, and he seems quietly docile, just like he was the last time Hikaru saw him.

He opens his mouth and starts to call his name again, but stops when Pavel looks down from the sky and stares at him through cloudy, wide green eyes, nothing like what Hikaru knows they should be like. In the moonlight, his skin almost matches the snow around them for its brilliance, the way the light catches and shatters across the smooth planes that Hikaru doesn’t have to touch to know how they feel. He wants to touch him anyway, and his fingers barely manage to curl around his wrist before Pavel blinks a few times rapidly and just for a second Hikaru sees a flash of the usual clarity that should be there.

“Hikaru,” he mumbles and it sounds like it’s coming from far away, filtered through water and distance, thousands of miles of oceans between the two of them, between reality and whatever world Pavel has been wandering through for the last month and a half. “Hikaru Sulu.”

“That’s right,” Hikaru tells him in his own language before it occurs to him that Pavel probably can’t understand him like this, not if he looks like he can barely string together a sentence of his own tongue. Nonetheless, Pavel looks a little relieved and reaches for his hand, like he does understand, like he’ll always understand anything Hikaru tells him.

The sentimental notion is a surprise to Hikaru, who has tried to section off thoughts of the pretty young man when he strokes himself at night. The memory of what happened that morning in the square has haunted him for this long, taunting him with how much he wanted Pavel then and how strongly that want has grabbed hold of him and refused to let go. He’s just someone Hikaru wants to help, a citizen he’s obligated to protect as a soldier, and thoughts such as that can do nothing for him.

Instead of fumbling for the right thing to say, instead of worrying about what this means, Hikaru reaches out and pulls Pavel against his chest, frowning when he goes limp in his arms, relaxed and trusting. Hikaru catches Pavel when his knees go out and lifts him into his arms, hating how much this is like the day in the cold, how his cock hardens at the memory, because he doesn’t want to want Pavel at all, but especially not like this, when Pavel is not himself. It would be too much of a compromise of the stiff morals he’s kept to for so long.

And then Pavel turns his face from Hikaru’s shoulder and kisses his throat, slurring together his words, but Hikaru knows enough to recognize the terms of endearment just before Pavel presses his lips firmly against Hikaru’s. Whatever burst of strength prompted it doesn’t last long, but it gets Hikaru’s attention. There is something of Pavel still left, fighting through the foggy haze, and that is what gave him the ability to do that, to kiss him like that, with silk-soft lips and the sweet brush of breath Hikaru feels more in its absence than when it actually happened.

“Hikaru Sulu,” he mumbles, blinks twice, and falls forward against his shoulder, his lips hovering an inch from his ear. “Bright moon, you’ll go home. We’ll go home.”

It means nothing to him, but Hikaru nods like it does. He tells himself that it’s just the ramblings from whatever the priests give him to keep him complacent and yielding. He whispers a soft agreement into Pavel's ear and carries him out of the courtyard, feeling uncomfortable with both his thoughts and the way his pants don’t fit quite right.

*

From that point on, Hikaru keeps an eye out all the time, always waiting to find Pavel somewhere in the temple, now that he knows that the oracles are permitted to leave wherever it is that they’re kept. He meets one of the other oracles by accident, a pale young woman with cloudy blue eyes, but she possesses none of the spark Hikaru has seen in Pavel, and her robes are a silvery blue that makes her look as though the snow could take her in a moment.

She stands alone in the corridor, staring out the window the way Hikaru has seen wounded men after the battle, when they look without ever seeing anything. A priestess bows deeply to her on her way past, but Hikaru is suddenly seized by a fierce curiosity. This girl, this unnamed oracle, could tell him things about Pavel, intentionally or not, and when he stands just beside her, she finally moves. Her limbs are slow and stiff, her movements unpredictable, but she slides a cold hand into his and keeps staring out the window, mouth moving wordlessly.

For a few seconds, Hikaru stares at her, then shakes his head and opens his mouth to tell her he doesn’t understand. He’s seen the priests and priestesses treat the oracles like something other-worldly, but he doesn’t believe in the same things they do, and he just thinks they’re people crying out for someone to recognize them. Before anything can come out, though, he pauses when her words gain momentum, voice, and his blood freezes when he realizes that it isn’t just mad ramblings anymore.

“Hikaru Sulu,” she mumbles weightlessly, her breath barely fogging on the glass. “Home, going home.” He shakes his hand out of hers and she actually turns to look at him, her mouth slack and her eyes blinking rapidly.

“It’s coming,” she whispers, just under her breath, and he swears that she sounds sad, just before he salutes her, not knowing what else to do, and walks away, feeling more like he’s running for how his breath tears itself from his chest.

“Soldier!” The sound stops him immediately, even though it’s only a quiet call from one of the priests, who actually looks stunned at his own audacity for calling out to him. Few of the people here have ever actually learned his name, aside from the Elder, who asked it the second time they met. They meet often to discuss the state of the town, but Hikaru has always been extraordinarily aware of his position among the people as an outsider, albeit a very interesting one.

He turns and frowns, expecting some kind of reproach for his encounter with the oracle, but the priest has just appeared from another corridor entirely. “Yes?” he calls back, pleased that his handle on the local language has improved, even if his accent has not.

Before long, Hikaru is back in the Elder’s tower, just like when he first came here, looking out on the town with a grim expression. He doesn’t even need to come closer to know that this will not be a reassuring meeting, that the feeling in the room is all wrong.

“You have seen the people,” the Elder begins, and Hikaru nods, but doesn’t manage to get in a word before the old man continues, his age more apparent now than ever. Things have been deteriorating in the village, people growing sick with every passing day, things that they should be able to heal but haven't been able to. “You should continue back to your home before you become sick here.”

Hikaru is sure that isn’t all there is to it, but the Elder seems distracted, watching out on the town and his heart sinks instead. This man is the leader of this town, spiritually if not also politically. Hikaru supposes that his presence here has done some good, but— _oh_. He realizes that this isn’t about the sickness, it’s about Hikaru as a foreigner; a scapegoat that until now has only made him an outsider, not a threat. Then he remembers the encounter only a few moments before, perhaps a mere quarter of an hour, and chills crawl up his spine.

“Sir—” he begins, and the Elder turns to look at him. Hikaru doesn’t see hatred, just resignation and exhaustion in his eyes, and he bites his lip, weighing whether or not to share the experience.

“Yes, soldier?”

He hesitates again, and then lowers his head. “The oracles really see the future, don’t they?”

“They do,” the Elder assures him, reaching for a wooden cane from the corner that Hikaru has never seen him use before. “And they have seen the loss of one of their own,” he continues, shaking his head and nodding toward the door, indicating that he is planning to leave and Hikaru should leave with him.

“Leave tomorrow morning, soldier,” he instructs him sadly. “We will arrange your payment. The snows should not hinder you. We must arrange for the loss of one of our oracles.”

Hikaru can’t think of anything more to say, but the Elder keeps sighing and muttering under his breath, bemoaning the loss, that it’s been too little time, the boy is so young—and it’s these words that causes him to stop on the stairs.

“Elder,” he calls, catching up to him quickly, a hand steadying the old man when he sways in place. “The oracle they saw—”

“We hoped you would leave before, since we thought you may find our customs disturbing,” the old man begins, refusing to meet Hikaru’s eyes. It’s that which lets him know exactly what’s happening, what’s going to happen, and he swallows back the sudden lump in his throat.

“Pavel,” he whispers hoarsely, but the old man continues slowly down the stairs, saying nothing to even acknowledge that he heard him.

“I should pack,” he stammers out, feeling numbness spread through his limbs as he hurries past him. He’ll leave in the morning because he isn’t sure what would happen if he stayed, whether it would threaten his life or not. All that seems to matter is Pavel, that he’s the one they’ve chosen to die, and there’s nothing he can do.

When he reaches his room, Hikaru leans against the wooden door and thinks how he’s let himself get in too deep, been affected too profoundly by things that shouldn’t have mattered in comparison to the wars he’s fought and the men he’s seen dead before now.

By the time he’s packed an hour later, though, Hikaru has put everything but the twisting feeling in his gut aside. By the sunset bells, he has a plan.

*

Months at war made Hikaru a light sleeper. The cold of the north made him a man who no longer needed long periods of sleep in order to do what needed to be done, and as a result he only dozes for a few hours before picking up his bag and securing it over his shoulder. He won’t have time to come back for anything, and though he’s supposed to receive payment for his services to the town in the morning when he leaves, he doesn’t mind leaving that behind if it means he can save Pavel from whatever it is they plan to do to him. That’s payment enough, and some part of him hopes that the Elder sees it that way, too.

The time he’s spent in the temple has given him a general understanding of its layout, enough to know where the oracles must stay in relation to where everyone else is. He slips in silently, bypassing a single priest who must be in charge of watching them at night, but is sleeping soundly against the wall. It goes well, almost _too_ well, but starts in surprise when he steps into the first chamber and realizes that he’s staring at one of the oracles, one he’s never seen before, and one that’s definitely awake when no one else should be.

“Hikaru Sulu,” he murmurs, standing up from his chair beside the window. When the bright moonlight catches on his robes, Hikaru believes for a second that he might be covered in a hundred living snakes rather than smooth silk.

“Shit,” he whispers, reverting to his native language because it seems somehow less blasphemous than using the language of these people. “You know what I came here for, don’t you?”

It’s occurred to him in the past that the oracles can actually see the future, or some version of it, but it hasn’t ever struck him as _creepy_ before now. Hikaru swallows and stares the oracle in the eye, noting that he doesn’t seem any more lucid than Pavel or the female oracle he met earlier in the day.

“Third door,” the oracle continues, his dark hair shining in the moonlight, and it takes Hikaru a few full seconds before he realizes that it’s help, not anything more worrisome than that.

“Pavel,” Hikaru breathes. “It’s the third door?” When the oracle nods, he grips his shoulder tightly and smiles so hard his face hurts from it. “ _Thank you._ ”

The dark-headed oracle nods and closes his hazy eyes, sitting down again and, though Hikaru thinks perhaps he’s imagining it while hurrying to the door, he thinks that he looks relieved.

True enough, when Hikaru hurries down the hall and opens the third door, it’s Pavel standing in the center of the room.

“You came,” he murmurs, but doesn’t otherwise look very surprised that it’s happened at all.

Hikaru ignores the creeping sensation up his spine and holds out a hand for him. “You know,” he whispers, as if the whole temple, the whole _town_ , will hear if he’s any louder. “You know what’s going to happen in the morning. I have to go, and I can’t leave you like this.”

“I know,” Pavel tells him, and which statement he’s agreeing with and if it’s a cheeky glint in his eye, Hikaru can’t be sure. His steps are hobbled and slow, but Hikaru can tell that his robes don’t really limit his movement. They aren’t well suited for the cold, however, but Hikaru can’t see any other option. They’ll have to risk the dangers of the cold and snow and leave their fate to the gods, Pavel’s or Hikaru’s, or any set, Hikaru isn’t really picky as long as they make it.

“Will you come, then?” he asks, and breathes out a sigh of relief when Pavel nods and takes his hand, his own hand cold and light as a bird.

“To the left,” Pavel whispers, leading Hikaru across the room. He seems to know what’s going on, though it seems like he’s ordering his body to move from very far away. His fingers scrabble across the paneling in the wall, until they catch on a small groove and he pulls helplessly. When Hikaru mimics him, he finds that the panel slides away easily, except Pavel is too weak to manage it on his own.

Hikaru isn’t sure what he’s doing, he just wants Pavel to be all right, to be safe and cared for. He should have been able to leave well enough alone, but something draws him to Pavel, either his innocence or helplessness, or only the fact that Hikaru knows what he’s supposed to be like under usual circumstances. No matter what it is, though, Hikaru’s in too deep to stop now, especially when they slip into the tunnel behind the panel and push it back into place.

The trek through the tunnel lasts less than a minute, but with his heart pounding so hard in his chest that Hikaru can hear it in his ears, it feels longer than that. Pavel slips once and Hikaru picks him up, grunting in surprise when Pavel sighs blissfully in his arms and presses a cheek against his chest. They’ll need to be faster than this when they get out of the temple, for the next week, possibly even for the rest of their lives. He hopes that whatever they’ve done to Pavel isn’t permanent, that it’ll wear off with time and then, _then_ Hikaru will see the same shimmer in Pavel's eyes that he knows belongs there.

Lamplight glows at the end of the tunnel, bright enough that it makes Hikaru stop and blink a few times before his eyes adjust and he realizes that each of the other six oracles, including the other two he’s met by chance, are standing in a broken circle in the small room.

“Bright moon,” the pale oracle in blue whispers to him, brushing her soft fingers over Hikaru’s forehead and cheeks, then a gentle kiss to Pavel’s lips. The other six follow suit, whispering things that mean nothing to Hikaru, but he tucks them away anyway, because he’s learned better than to completely ignore them.

They whisper into his ears things like: _Go home_ and _follow the moon_ , but Hikaru focuses himself on pulling out his cloak, wrapping it around Pavel and hoping that his clothes will be enough to keep him warm as they travel hard tonight. He doesn’t think twice about taking one of the lanterns from the wall and nodding to the oracles, who have grouped back into a circle, watching him start toward the tunnel on the other side of the room.

“It will be well,” they whisper in a round, starting and stopping at different points and echoing in his ears when he turns and hurries through. Pavel stirs against his chest but he hushes him, shaking his head and breathing out in relief when Pavel seems to nod and slip back into daze that’s held him for this long.

Hikaru doesn’t stop for anything, not when his body screams for rest because the cold is too much, because he’s sore and exhausted from carrying Pavel. He knows that they won’t make it to the next town for another day at least, longer if Pavel doesn’t come out of his drugged state soon. When he finally stops, the moon is slipping below the horizon. By his guess, it’s another two hours before daybreak, but they aren’t getting anywhere by starlight alone, not with the thick roots protruding from the ground that Hikaru nearly tripped over half a dozen times, even when they had the moonlight to guide them.

Pavel sighs softly when Hikaru settles him between the roots of a gnarled tree, shaking out stiff joints and hurrying to build a fire with some kindling he’s been fortunate enough to find among the snow. There is some pine, but he worries it will burn too quickly, especially the needles, so he takes a chance on some of the pungent, smoky hardwood when he finds a young tree iced over where it must have fallen early in the winter. It takes it a moment, but the fire roars to life so quickly that Hikaru has to take a few quick steps back and nearly stumbles over Pavel in the process. When he inhales again, his nostrils are rewarded with the comforting smell of burning pine, not burning flesh.

When Hikaru sits down again, he pulls out the few blankets he dared to take with him and drags Pavel into his lap, circling the blankets around the both of them.

“Hikaru Sulu,” Pavel whispers and Hikaru only nods, numb with cold, but thawing slowly in the heat of the flames that stand out against the last hours of night.

“Pavel Andreievich,” he whispers back when he feels like he can speak without his teeth clacking together. It’s the first time he’s allowed himself to speak Pavel’s name, and he’s held onto it for so long that Hikaru first fears that he’s gotten it wrong, that he failed to keep it safe while Pavel forgot it. Pavel nods quietly and breathes out, leaning back against Hikaru.

They stay still, pressed together for so long that Hikaru forgets about the soreness in his body, even forgets that Pavel hasn’t always been so close to him. The truth is that he and Pavel barely know each other, that he’s only seen him twice without the drugged look in his eyes, but he’s risked everything to save him, and it’s not enough for him to wave away as the actions of a dutiful soldier. There’s something more here, something Hikaru doesn’t know what to name; something that changes this enough that he doesn’t mind that he’ll be responsible for Pavel, no matter what happens.

“Hikaru?” Pavel breathes and turns his head back toward him. “Don’t worry,” he continues in his own language, so slurred that Hikaru barely recognizes the words. “It will be well.”

_It will be well._ That was what the oracles had whispered to him when they left, and the idea that Pavel may be still connected to them is eerie enough that Hikaru shifts to look around the massive tree trunk, just to make sure they haven’t been followed. When he settles with his back to the tree again, Pavel turns in his arms, sliding free of Hikaru’s cloak and staring at him intensely, staring into Hikaru deep enough to make him feel exposed. He shudders and closes his eyes, pulling Pavel against his chest.

“It will be all right,” he assures him, though it doesn’t seem to be necessary. Pavel leans into him and breathes out so slowly that it almost feels like he isn’t breathing at all. By the time Pavel falls asleep like that, Hikaru is already dozing off himself, his fatigue reaching in so deep within him that he feels like there’s nothing left of himself, just an abyss of exhaustion.

*

Pavel wakes first, but Hikaru is awake the second he stirs with the soft kind of noises that reminds him of a whimpering animal. He rubs his eyes slowly and pauses when he looks down and catches Pavel staring at him, that distant look of watery determination in his eyes. The sky is a pale gray, but the sun hasn’t risen yet, and Hikaru shivers at the first brush of cold. His fire is weak, but still burning. He grunts quietly when he gets up and drops more wood onto it, coaxing it back to life with gentle breath and a few prods from a stick he abandons to the flames.

He turns around to tell Pavel that he actually wants to go back to sleep, kneels next to him and even opens his mouth, but stops short when he realizes that Pavel’s gaze hasn’t moved from him since he got up, probably since Pavel himself woke up.

“Is everything okay?” he asks, though he knows that if something weren’t, Pavel would speak up. He hasn’t demonstrated any inability to speak, just an inability to fully articulate his thoughts into words.

At first, Pavel doesn’t respond at all, but then his face blanks and he tips forward and kisses Hikaru very softly. It’s like before, a time that feels like years before, rendering Hikaru’s life before meeting Pavel a distant age before, except Hikaru doesn’t pull away and Pavel doesn’t faint into his arms. The kiss grows this time, warm and alive and delicate, like something taking flight. Hikaru responds slow at first, his hands hovering beside Pavel’s shoulders before they settle there, holding him in place and shaking so hard he’s sure Pavel must feel it somewhere in the depths of his marrow.

Even though Pavel is the one who’s been drugged, Hikaru is punch drunk from a single kiss. Pavel’s soft lips yield to him in a way that shouldn’t be inviting, but the moans that come with it from deep in Pavel’s chest are enough to encourage him to push back the blankets from his shoulders and spread him over his cloak. Every inch of his skin is softer than the silk Hikaru pushes out of the way to find it, and when he thinks to stop before he loses control of himself completely, the idea is dismissed with the fleeting realization that something’s broken free inside him and he can’t stop this no matter how hard he tries. This was going to happen and Hikaru is just a part of it, some puppet of fate that he doesn’t know, but Pavel is somehow connected to.

When he pulls a blanket over himself, Pavel’s hands are fumbling over his body, tugging at articles of clothing that don’t match his own. They probably don’t even match anything he’s ever known, but he tries and though it doesn’t make sense, though this is probably a terrible idea that Hikaru will come to regret, he loses himself in the moment and helps Pavel strip off his shirts. He pauses then to untie the first of several sashes holding Pavel’s robes in place. His whole body is shaking now, even though he’s sure he’s never been more comfortably warm in his whole life, and when the silken robes fall open in a heap of shimmering, slithering cloth, both his breath and heart seize before daring to go on.

“Oh, gods,” Hikaru whispers, names a few of his ancestor gods in reverence to this moment, to seeing Pavel sprawled out beneath him with the early dawn glowing around them and the firelight breaking like sunlight on his skin. He recalls seeing him once before, in the ritual that started this all for the both of them, but that was nothing like this is.

Pavel turns his head up to the canopy of the forest, a distant, confused thing between the awkward collection of leafless trees and snow-covered pines. Hikaru traces his fingertips over Pavel's cheek, down collarbones and across the smooth, pale breadth of Pavel’s chest. There was once great strength here, and Hikaru theorizes what Pavel did in his life before he was taken by the temple to be their oracle. Maybe he helped his parents in their business. Maybe he baked bread or shod horses or cut logs, read books or built furniture. Whatever it was, Pavel used to be accustomed to hard work and he had been tall and strong and bright. Hikaru understands why he was chosen to be the town’s oracle. There was probably a greater, brighter light around him than Hikaru even remembers seeing when they met before, something that has enveloped him and protected him and carried him through to now. This, whatever they’re doing, perhaps might revive that and save him, because it doesn’t feel wrong, no matter how Hikaru tries to frame it with his guilt. The despairing hope that Pavel will be all right when it’s all over prevails over everything else.

Hikaru spreads his hands over Pavel’s ribs, feels his heart thump gently against the skeletal barrier between them, and bends forward to kiss Pavel again. They unwind rapidly, Hikaru a frenzy of movement and rushed worry that if he stops for a second he’ll never start again because Pavel will disappear into the rising sun with the retreating night and pungent smoke from their fire. Pavel twists with the direction of his hands, allows him to push the robes away, but his response is more sudden when Hikaru lets his fingers drift over his thighs.

“ _Hikaru,_ ” he gasps, reaching out for him, and his fingers grip his wrist like a lifeline. Hikaru barely remembers to breathe again, fingers brushing against the smooth erection he can barely see in the shadows from the fire. He remembers it as clearly as anything, wraps his fingers around him before, and strokes once, smiling when Pavel breathes out in relief, relaxing instead of growing more tense.

It’s so fast from there, or perhaps Hikaru simply can’t remember everything in order, because every movement feels like slow motion when he reaches for the lantern oil and slicks fingers in the way he recalls someone crudely teaching him once upon a different life. It doesn’t matter, not here, not now, except that it’s the right thing to do as long as Pavel moans like that; long and relaxed and utterly trustful of anything Hikaru chooses to do. Only by the time Hikaru has a finger worked into him do the implications of what he’s about to do have begin to catch up to him.

This will irreversibly change everything about his life: how he perceives himself and this thing he’s put to the side for so many years, how he will never be able to live without Pavel, if he ever had a choice in the matter in the first place. No matter what happens now, Hikaru has changed his life, or has had it changed by the boy lying prone beneath him, at peace with the world as Hikaru stretches him slowly. Nothing will ever be the same.

Hikaru doesn’t know if he cares at all.

Pavel doesn’t seem bothered by the possibility that this might hurt him, though Hikaru keeps whispering reassurances into his ear. His eyes are closed, but there’s no trace of tension in his body, just the breathless litany of panted moans that ebb and flow with his even breath. He doesn’t seem absent from the events, but he doesn’t protest, even when Hikaru slips his fingers out and presses into him, eliciting only a soft hitch in his breath. Hikaru pushes in as slowly and as gently as he possibly can, unsure how to tell if he’s hurt Pavel, but certain this isn’t something unwelcome.

Their slow rocking, Pavel’s hips up against Hikaru, Hikaru pushing him gently into the pile of robes, falls into a gentle cadence that Hikaru follows, thinking briefly of his first swordsmanship lesson, the slow progression of forms that bled into one another. This is like that, each thrust melting into the gentle pull-out, which follows form and transforms just as subtly back to the next thrust. Everything falls into that rhythm. Hikaru feels Pavel’s steady heartbeat against his own until they match, pulsing together with Pavel’s chorus of quiet cries and the thick moans Hikaru has tempered with the urge to thrust deeper, harder into Pavel. This isn’t just about him right now, it’s about Pavel, what he needs, because Hikaru already knows there will be time for _fucking_ , for doing this a thousand different ways, when Pavel opens his eyes again.

“Pavel,” he cries the first word either of them has allowed in all of this. Pavel’s eyes blink open, still dazed, but he blinks and his mouth falls open in a soft, round _oh_. And then he comes in slow, strong pulses against Hikaru’s chest to the same rhythm they’ve been following this whole time, since perhaps even the first time they met. Hikaru falls apart again, clinging to him through a fiercer climax that he’s helpless to prevent from decimating him when he fills Pavel.

For a few beats, he keeps himself suspended over Pavel, hands pressed into the ground on either side of his head, and just stares down at him, not at all sure how to make sense of what they’ve just done. When he catches his breath, or just before, because time seems to flow all wrong, fast in some places and slow in others, Hikaru tumbles down to the ground beside Pavel, stroking fingers over his cheeks, his swollen lips. The winter chill creeps in under the edges of the blankets and all Hikaru can think to do is pull Pavel close against his chest and remember that he was once told that it was better to sleep without clothing on anyway.

Pavel breathes out slowly, and Hikaru catches the tail end of a smile before Pavel falls limp against his chest. He arranges the blankets tightly around them and kisses Pavel’s forehead.

Hikaru consoles himself with the calm certainty that’s settled over him that Pavel will be fine and they’ll talk then, whenever he wakes, because Pavel _will_ , and soon.

*

It’s another week before they make it far enough that Hikaru stops worrying whether or not anyone will pursue them, pursue _him_ for stealing their sacrifice. Pavel grows more and more aware by the day. He sleeps less and occasionally Hikaru sees the spark and blaze in his eyes that indicates that he’ll be back. Hikaru just doesn’t know when. Pavel begins expressing himself, giving opinions in a faint tone that sounds weak, even when he tries to assert himself, to tell Hikaru things about the area that Pavel might know, but Hikaru has no way of knowing.

They travel on.

A few more weeks pass, and Hikaru sees the thaw of the snow all around them, not quite spring, but there are the faint tips on the trees that will grow into buds all too soon, maybe even by the time Hikaru makes it back to his family. Just the same, Pavel emerges from himself and Hikaru begins to worry that he’s made a mistake. He fears Pavel will hate him for what he’s done, for taking him from his home and touching him and falling in love with someone he hardly knows outside of eerie intuition. Every time he does, Pavel seems to sense it and a single touch of his fingers across Hikaru’s worried forehead or a fleeting kiss no one but them sees is all that it takes to banish the idea for the moment.

There are so many things to consider, so many ways this could still go so wrong, and Hikaru doesn’t have an answer for all of the problems facing them. He’s brought Pavel out of immediate danger, but as much as he cares about him, about his well-being and how much he frankly _loves_ him, he has no idea what to do now. They can’t live together, not with Hikaru's people, not unless Pavel consents to working in Hikaru’s house and Hikaru can come to terms with marrying some faceless woman his parents have set out to choose for him since he left. He’s put off thinking about it this long, until they’ve finally made it a few miles from the city gates.

Hikaru stops Pavel and sets up a fire, Pavel even helping intermittently, though he seems groggy in his movements. He never quite meets Hikaru’s eyes, as if the effort of lifting them is too much for his fragile body that has taken half of two seasons to recover this far. Just the same, Hikaru appreciates the help and tries to be reassuring, even when Pavel’s efforts are more hindrance than help.

“This is where I live,” he explains softly, gesturing to the city and pushing a hand through his hair. When Pavel nods, he continues quietly, “I know I brought you here, because I thought this was best, but I really don’t know if things are going to be okay here.”

By now he’s rambling, but when Hikaru sucks in a breath and starts to continue, and Pavel’s finger presses against his lips, Hikaru stops dead, looking down at Pavel, who takes his time to look back up. Now Hikaru can see, without any question or doubt.

Pavel’s eyes are clear and bright, sparkling with the fierce sureness Hikaru has envied in other people and never been able to find within himself. The sight makes Hikaru stop breathing, his eyes locked on Pavel’s, who laughs quietly and pulls his fingers away from Hikaru like he’s been shocked, or like Hikaru might bite him.

“It will be well,” he assures him firmly, his tone completely different, almost like he’s laughing, amused, but not at all accusatory or filled with the kind of hatred Hikaru expected when he first envisioned Pavel’s triumphant return to the rest of the world.

Even when they spend the rest of the night in awed silence, when they don’t plan further ahead than the next day for several weeks and leave Hikaru’s homeland behind for a new place, somewhere that has never felt the beat of either of their footsteps. Even then, Hikaru is filled with a new sense of certainty and relief and gladness that he followed his intuition. He trusts it again, when Pavel encourages him to do so with the twinkle of his eyes at noon and the buck of his hips against Hikaru’s at midnight.

_It will be well,_ Pavel has told him, and the oracles had assured him so long before. Hikaru finally believes it.


End file.
